


A Loaded Bowl of Memories

by Polkahotness



Category: Hey Arnold!
Genre: Angst, Dark, Drug Use, Memories, Other, Past Relationship(s), Recreational Drug Use, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:33:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24390619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polkahotness/pseuds/Polkahotness
Summary: As Helga rides through town with Wolfgang in the early hours of the morning, she finds herself looking back to a past all but forgotten - a time long before this dreary, rainy day. ONESHOT**rated M for drug usage and language
Relationships: Helga Pataki & Arnold Shortman, Helga Pataki/Arnold Shortman, Helga Pataki/Wolfgang
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	A Loaded Bowl of Memories

The rain had down poured on Hillwood nearly all day. Even now, it continued to drizzle as if maintaining the small puddles which decorated the pavement and roads of the city. The outside world lay dormant, as though suspended within the thin curtains of the constant rain. A hush hung heavy throughout the streets as though there were a muffled brand of quiet living within the air of the city as it slept.

_Sweep, hold. Sweep, hold. Sweep, hold._

The windshield wipers slid back and forth in a steady rhythm to clear the layers of mist that spritzed onto the glass until it blurred. Then, again it would swipe.

_Sweep, hold. Sweep, hold. Sweep, hold._

In the brief moments of clarity between spritzes and sweeps, I stared into the city night just beyond the windshield. Silently from the passenger seat, I intently watched the puddles that littered the upcoming road until they'd pass my line of sight. As I followed each one, I observed the pools of stagnant water on the rippled tar until I felt them splash into oblivion beneath the tires of Wolfgang's shitty car.

It mystified me, the leftover rain that congregated on the street. The way the moisture on the black tar shone with the warm tones of the streetlamps and red lights mimicked that of fire. With my eyes stuck on what lay ahead, I felt a certain level of power within me as we traveled on the fiery boulevard in the wee hours of the morning.

Peeling my eyes from my rainy environment, I glanced down at the digital clock reflecting the time in a bright, neon blue light.

3:37.

It was nearly 4 in the morning and here I was, _still_ awake, riding in this piece-of-shit car with my _idiot_ of a boyfriend who was determined to get weed. Wolfgang had been trying to get some since early last afternoon and hadn't heard back until nearly 3 in the FUCKING morning.

Which meant that we were deep in the thickets of downtown Hillwood while the world drizzled around us; suspending reality in a gloom that resembled the one in my own brain.

I was glad it was spring break.

Since the divorce with Big Bob, Miriam gave even _less_ of a shit about me than usual which was fine by me. These days I took care of her more than she took care of me and the dynamic seemed to fit better which I guess is probably not something to go bragging about.

Every morning I woke up and made sure Miriam was still alive from wherever she'd passed out the night before. I make her coffee and wave it under her nose to get her alive and kicking. I grab a lone banana (that I BUY) and run out the door to leave her to her devices until I return late at night. While I didn't usually stay out as late as I was tonight, I didn't usually get home until midnight most nights. Spending time with friends out at the abandoned Yahoo warehouse we'd turned into a hangout was far more preferable than a night in with whatever remained of my mom.

But, you know, life goes on.

You turn 17, get moved up to manager at your shitty fast-food job and date your 18-year-old co-worker who gave you your first cigarette in the back alley behind the restaurant at 16 right after the worst moment of your natural born life.

At least that's what _I_ did which brings me to where I was now—sitting in the passenger seat of Wolfgang's rusted '94 Ford mustang loading our last bowl until we re-upped in just a few minutes once reaching our destination.

"Good thing he got back to me, right, babe?" Wolfgang commented while reaching out to fiddle with the dial of radio's volume. He kept moving it back and forth trying to get his glitchy radio to do what he wanted.

"Yeah, I guess," I muttered while pressing down the green powder into the bowl of our blue and yellow speckled glass pipe. "You're the one who smokes most of it _anyway_ …"

"Oh whatever, Helga," He retorted angrily. "You smoke _just_ as much as I do. You're _always_ smoking."

"Because _you're_ always smoking, ya dip," my words were sour but tired. We must have this argument nearly once a week but I never win. So I've resorted to giving up. It's just so exhausting to fight somebody who's so closed-minded and stubborn- ignorantly so.

But, you know, life goes on.

"And you always end up tagging along just the same, don't you?" He countered with an arrogant grin in my direction while continuing to play with the dial. "Face it, Pataki, you love the way that ganja makes you feel, and you can't _wait_ to get high."

I rolled my eyes though I knew he was right. I _hated_ that I knew he was right.

Weed itself may not be addictive or have addictive qualities like the nicotine in the cigarettes I smoked, but the way it made you feel… the way you could focus and sort out your feelings while numbing out the pain and floating through life on autopilot—that _feeling_ was addictive.

And while I knew that I could (and had) lived life sober for prolonged periods of time without a problem, I never passed up an opportunity to partake in the greens that Wolfgang almost always had to offer.

Frankly, it was the reason we were still together these days.  
Okay, maybe not the _reason_ per se, but it was definitely a _benefit_.

The list of reasons why we were together were short and few and I always kept them at the forefront of my mind like some kind of sick reminder of the countless failures that had plagued my life.

Reasons Why I, Helga G. Pataki, Was Dating (1) Wolfgang:

Wolfgang was available

Arnold was not

Like I said, the fact that he had weed was just a benefit—a way to cope with what my life had become. Marijuana was just a medicine for the sickness inside of me that could never be cured. At least, not completely. And at least not alone.

To cure my disease, I'd need to go back in time. I'd need to rewrite the past with a magical quill that could erase what I'd done and allow me to start over. To fix this curse, I'd need—

"Can you _believe_ this piece of shit?!" Wolfgang exclaimed; his frustrated yell dragging me from my thought process. Completely fed up, he reached up to soon smack the dash right above the radio as if it would fix his problem. "Fucking professional job my fucking ASS!"

I watched him for a long while as he continued to huff and puff where he sat holding the wheel of the car in a death-grip.

"You uh, you done yet?" I asked while giving him a bored look. "Done with your little hissy fit over a stereo?"

He glowered over in my direction. "I don't know, are _you_ done yet packing the goddamn bowl?"

"Sure thing, your _majesty_ ," I remarked while presenting the pip to him in a formal fashion with one hand and holding out a lighter in the other.

"Knock it off," his voice matched my boredom as he snatched the two items out of my hands. "Why do you always have to be so fucking dramatic?"

I shrugged my shoulders while waiting for him to finish his first pull of the pipe I'd handed him. "Probably for the same reasons you choose to swear like a certified piece of white trash?"

He handed the bowl and lighter to me while holding his hit in his lungs, "What—" he squeezed out before at last releasing the breath he'd been holding; a large plume of smoke exhaling with him before he finished his sentence. "What in the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?"

Taking my hit, holding it and soon letting it out, I answered him very matter-of-factly. "You're white. You look, act and live like trash. Seems fitting."

"I should kick you out of this car right now for saying that," he snarled and I looked at him from out the corner of my eye with an unimpressed expression painted over my features.

"Yeah but you won't. And you wanna know _why_ you won't, Wolfy?" I asked without the need for an another while passing him the pipe and lighter once again.

He took his pull and held it longer than he had his first hit. "Why?" He squeezed out in a squeak of a voice before exhaling and returning the pipe to me.

I looked down at the small piece we'd been sharing; the depth of the cavity nearly empty with but one hit left. "Because then we'd be _alone_ and miserable," I muttered before bringing the pipe up to my lips and hovering it there with my lighter at the ready to flick alive. "Least this way we're miserable together," I finished before at last igniting the final hit and sucking in the heavy smoke deeply. "And misery loves it's company."

Wolfgang smirked at this, though he seemed to agree.

We'd only found each other by chance and our relationship had become one of circumstance rather than mutual emotion. Had I not had the foolish notion that I should try dating someone more 'like me.' Had I not continued to embark on a relationship that meant _nothing_ to me just to get some footballhead's attention. Had I not allowed that same footballhead the time he apparently needed to move on to whoever he was dating now; leaving me with _this_ dingus for company… then maybe I'd have the courage to up and leave Wolfgang without so much as a look back.

But I couldn't.  
Or rather, I didn't want to.  
Because then I'd be _alone_.

Then I'd be alone and have to deal with those haunting memories of what once was; of a sophomore year so pure and so absolutely _perfect_ that each ghost of our every kiss tickled at my lips. My memories of how his lips felt against mine were my sickeningly sweet vice—the only thing I couldn't stand being alone with.

So, I guessed it was better to be miserable and distracted.  
Miserable and distracted—but not alone.

So, you know, life goes on.

As I waited in the car for Wolfgang after he disappeared into his buddy's house for more of the magical plant we craved, I pulled out the familiar pack of cigarettes that I kept with me at all times. The black container, lined in pink, had been my signature smoke since I'd taken up the bad habit late last year.

Flipping the lid up to reveal three cancerous sticks looking back at me, I sighed.

 _I gotta buy more before I get home tonight,_ I mentally noted before pulling a lone cigarette out and bringing it to rest between my lips. "Now where the fuck's the…" I muttered to myself while patting around the dark interior of the car for the lighter I'd seemingly lost. Finally feeling it, I held it up triumphantly before using it to light the end of my cig.

Pulling a couple of times from the stick, smoke at last hit my lungs and the ashen taste I'd grown to somehow enjoy coated my tongue with an invisible, chemical film. Shutting my eyes gently, I exhaled my drag and allowed the smallest of rushes to take root throughout my body. It swam through my bloodstream and made way into my limbs where the nerves danced in delight at their encounter with that sweet, sweet hit of nicotine.

And then it was gone.

Opening my eyes as though I'd only blinked, my eyes gravitated out the windshield towards the large oak tree in the yard of whoever's house we were at. The soft wind of the early morning jostled the leaves on the branches, and I paid extra attention to the many droplets of water that fell off in bursts like translucent fireworks headed towards the wet ground.

_Like hundreds of shooting stars, the sparkling fireworks burst towards the open night sky. As they blossomed in front of the black backdrop, the bright glitter illuminated the world for the briefest of moments before dissipating into darkness once more._

" _They must be getting towards the end of the show," Arnold said while pointing up at the sky from where he sat cross-legged on the ground atop the grassy hill. "They always save those glittering once for the end."_

" _Not_ always _, ya dingbat," I retorted while looking up at him as I lay my head across his lap with my hands gently resting on my stomach. "Last year they used the squealers before the finale and it SUUUUCKED" I elongated the word while laughing and Arnold soon joined in to chuckle with me at the memory._

" _The sound freaked Abner out so much that he ran—he ran—" his laughter was consuming him as he retold the tale we both vividly recalled, "—he ran under the table and pulled the tablecloth with it!"_

" _That fruit salad went FLYING!" I recounted with him as our giggling soon went out of control into a full blown cackle with tears soon spilling from my scrunched eyes. "All that whipped cream just… just_ dripping _off of Rhonda and the look—the look on her face?"_

" _You remember Harold?" Arnold added while pointing towards me as though trying to jog both of our memories at the same time. "They were dating at the time and he was right behind her—"_

_I pushed myself to sit up from Arnold's lap and twisted to look at him while nodding rapidly in acknowledgement at where he was headed with the story. "YES! And Pink Boy just, reaches out and scoops up a bunch of the whipped cream and eats it and goes—"_

_In unison we said among a laugh in our best Harold Berman impression we can muster, "Oh man! What a waste of fruit salad!"_

_Laughing some more as additional fireworks went off above us, Arnold and I continued live within the memory from only last year—a fourth of July party that we were sure to never forget. Because it was at that party that we'd reignited our spark and been practically inseparable ever since._

_A year ago today we'd kissed under the shimmering of the Independence Day Fireworks Finale from the top of the boarding house's roof. And a year later, sitting alone on top of the grassy hill with a perfect view of the show, we would kiss during the finale yet again._

_A tradition._

" _Eh," Arnold sighed as we both came down from our laughter high, "I did feel kind of bad for her, though."_

" _Who, Princess? Why?" I asked before waving him off and returning to lay on his lap. "You know she just had the dress sent off to whatever dry-cleaners her family was using that week. It isn't like she didn't recover from a little sugar and fluff."_

" _I know," he murmured before shrugging his shoulders and adjusting his gaze to look back up at the sky where the finale was imminent. "Still probably wasn't very fun for her though. You know how much Rhonda cares about her image."_

" _Trust me. I_ know _. Which is the exact reason that I didn't feel bad." Arnold glanced down to look at me with a furrowed brow as if egging me on to explain. "Everybody deserves to have a slap in the face from the shit-side of reality every once in a blue moon. It… you know. Keeps us in check. As people."_

" _Like humble? You think that Rhonda getting hit in the face with a bowl filled with whipped topping fruit salad was the universe's attempt at keeping her humble?"_

_He said the words with amusement beneath them and I merely shrugged with a slick smile on my lips and softly shut my eyes. "Somebody's gotta try to—I figure that the universe has the best shot at it."_

_This made Arnold smirk, "Whatever you say, Helga," He murmured before a series of explosions resounded throughout the atmosphere._

" _It's starting!" We both said and I sat up onto my knees as the two of us gazed upward in wonderment at the lightshow we'd been waiting for. Colors of every kind lit up the sky and as they let loose firework after firework, they all began to blend into one another until you couldn't distinguish one shape or variety from another. They shrieked and squealed and popped and boomed in a frenzy up above and for a moment, there wasn't a single worry clouding my thoughts._

_At the same moment, Arnold and I turned to each other to look deeply into the other's eyes. Light reflected itself in one another's eyes as it shined down on us from the celebratory display. As we stared at each other, grins illuminating our faces, the two of us leaned in to press our lips tenderly together._

_Beneath the fantastic firework finale, Arnold and I kissed as one; a continuation of sorts from our kiss of last year beneath the same set of lights._

I brought the cigarette back to my lips and deeply inhaled one last time. With that, I outstretched my free hand to hit the window button and watched as it slowly rolled down just enough to expose a crack of the damp world. With my two fingers, I flicked the cigarette butt with ease through the open space I'd made and soon rolled the window back up to shield me once more from the rain.

 _Arnold and I kissed as one,_ my mind repeated to myself as I focused on the memory of what that kiss had felt like.

It had been gentle; soft. He kissed me with a passion that was both strong and careful as though he may break me if he weren't careful. Our lips moved together in a controlled fashion, our expertise giving us a leg up in the kissing department.

But even with all of our 'practice' from our year of dating, I sometimes had a difficult time remember just how his lips had felt on mine. You'd think that with a year's worth of memories I'd be able to practically feel his hot breath and trembling lips on me.

Yet as I reached up my hand to delicately brush my fingertips over my worn lips that sorely missed their companions, I found that the memory itself wasn't enough any longer.

It simply wasn't enough to remember that once upon a time our lips had touched and that somewhere, beneath my layers of skin, was the imprint of the way his kiss had made me feel. Somewhere, deep within me, were the remnants of his kiss like a ghost forever haunting me of what once was and may never be again.

Suddenly the car door opened, and I dropped my fingers from my lips while snapping my head to look in Wolfgang's direction. He pulled his hood down to reveal his face that showed both an excited and exhausted expression.

Wolfgang was as sick of this relationship as I was, it was easy to tell. We were using each other for mutual company in the hope that it would drown out the loneliness we felt from my unreciprocated love for Arnold and his… well… _whatever_ it was that he was trying to avoid and ignore.

Once situated on the driver's seat he tossed a baggie my way that was filled with little nuggets of green that he had spent a decent chunk of change on. I stared at it for a long while, my eyes fixed on one bud in particular; the oblong shape of it taunting me from behind the plastic.

 _Arnold_ …

His smile flashed before my subconscious as I remained staring at the familiar shape as though something would happen. _Anything_ would happen. That maybe I'd wake up from this nightmare I was enduring with Wolfgang and I'd just be laying on Arnold's lap from the safety of our grassy hill; the endless sky and our endless possibilities ahead of us.

"Uh, hello?" Wolfgang's annoyed voice interrupted my imaginings and I was quickly brought back to reality by his next demand. "You gonna load the bowl or not?"

I sighed while nodding my head; unsure of any other answer that I could give.

Because, you know, life goes on.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not entirely sure why I wrote this. I was just listening to the song, 'Arsonist's Lullaby' and had this dark, angsty vision that I apparently had to write out. 
> 
> Enjoy? Lemme know what you think.


End file.
